


Neighbors Help Neighbors

by afamiliardog



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Babysitting, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-31
Updated: 2014-10-31
Packaged: 2018-02-23 10:23:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2544077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afamiliardog/pseuds/afamiliardog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Okay, Goblin King,” says Bahorel, trying to rub to sleep out of his eyes and wincing at the burn of residual pepper oil from his fingers. “Did you steal away a child? What is this? What happened? What.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Neighbors Help Neighbors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [panicatthebarricades](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=panicatthebarricades).



> **For:** panicatthebarricades  
>  **Request:** Bahorel and Spontaneous Child Acquisition  
>  **Warnings:** A single f-bomb. ALSO I have no idea what to do with babies, so please don’t take any information here as pro baby handling skills.  
>  **Notes:** Thanks for such a fun prompt! Really enjoyed writing it. Happy Halloween :)

“Hi,” says Jehan, in a suspiciously charming way considering how hard he had been hammering on Bahorel’s door moments before. “Sorry—did I wake you?”

It’s probably late morning at this point, but Bahorel just finished a night shift at the taqueria and is still so half-asleep he isn’t even sure what year it is, honestly. “Kinda,” he says through a badly-suppressed yawn, “wassamatter?”

“Uh, I am dealing with a semi-dire situation. Can I come in?”

Bahorel leans against the door frame of his apartment and takes in Jehan’s hair sticking up every which way even more aggressively than usual, his wide smile that does not so much hide his anxiety as broadcast it wildly, and, more than anything, the large, open cardboard box in his hands, which is rustling ominously. A tiny hand emerges from the blankets, grasping at the air. “Yep,” he says, stepping aside to let Jehan pass.

Jehan, to his credit, puts down the box gently on the couch and scurries off to the kitchen to make some instant coffee as fast as possible, leaving Bahorel to investigate. Not that he really needs to. He’s not sure if he’s just tired, or if he is just that unsurprised that Jehan would suddenly be in possession of a baby. Weirder things have happened in the past and weirder things would continue to happen in the future.

“Okay, Goblin King,” says Bahorel, trying to rub to sleep out of his eyes and wincing at the burn of residual pepper oil from his fingers. “Did you steal away a child? What is this? What happened? What.” He falls heavily onto the couch and brushes away some of the blankets in the box. Definitely a baby. “Why is—why do you have a baby in a _cardboard box_?”

“The woman who lives in 3B asked me to watch him while she did some errands,” Jehan says, putting Bahorel’s coffee down on the table, “and of course I said I would, Paulina is always so exhausted—but I really, _really_ don’t know anything about babies, she just likes me, and I thought that maybe… I don’t know, is there usually _gear_ that I’m not—”

As if sensing Jehan’s hesitation, the baby wailed thinly.

“You came to the right place,” says Bahorel, carefully lifting the babybundle up and out of the box. “I am the Baby King. No, the Baby Master—ugh. Baby Specialist? Hey there, kiddo—”

“Julian.”

“Hel- _lo_ , Julian.” The bundle wriggles a little, still wailing. “Aw, look at his little curls.” Bahorel starts reswaddling deftly, muttering all the while. “Let’s get you all wrapped up into a tiny baby burrito, all comfy and safe and warm. You will feel so much better. So why the box?”

“It was the softest thing I could put together,” half-mumbles Jehan, his face pressed hard into his hands. “I only have a cat bed in my apartment and it’s covered in hair. What if he’s allergic? Are babies born with cat allergies? Is that something you develop over time or are you born with—”

“Well, either way, he’s just fine. All swaddled and feelin’ good. Right, Julian? Can’t walk but ready to rock.” Bahorel swings himself to his feet carefully and paces the apartment floor. The baby slows his wailing as Bahorel steps carefully over loose socks, dishes, beer cans—“man, this is not the baby-friendliest zone,” he says. ”How big of a disaster was it at your place?”

“I was doing alright at first,” says Jehan, moving a stack of plates out of a potential tripping-zone, “I was just doing some sound editing for Joly and Bossuet’s podcast, and all was fine, but one surprise thunderclap sound effect and all hell breaks loose.” Not so much now, though; the cries are calming and slowing, and Bahorel shoots a grin at Jehan, who throws up his hands. ”How did you even _do_ that?”

"Well, growing up with five younger brothers and sisters, I can do this with my eyes closed. Got these Baby Whisperer skills on lock."

“I was doing everything I could think of to calm him down,” says Jehan, “except maybe with slightly more teeth-clenching and hair-rending.”

"Yeah, babies pick up on that."

"It wasn’t stress, actually, it was adding a dramatic element to a recital of _Annabel Lee_. Verbal soothing. Figured it would help.”

Bahorel grins as he sways. ”Jehan. Recite tragic poetry to babies all you like, but I’m surprised at you for starting a young mind off with the American brand of Romanticism.”

"I tried _Ladybird Ladybird,_ too.”

“Good variety.” Julian now quiet, Bahorel sinks back into the couch, resting the baby against his chest and waving his hand at the coffee out of reach impotently until Jehan puts it into his hand. ”So what’s the deal, Prouvaire? You’re not usually so frazzled.”

Jehan covers his eyes, flops back, and groans. “Okay, yes, I know, but it’s a tiny little life and I don’t want to—squash it. Or him, literally. It’s just safer if someone who has the experience—”

“Hell no, man.” Bahorel shifts his arms a little, moves the bundle sideways into Jehan’s lap. “Where’s your fighting spirit? Babies are tough—resilient, I mean—and you can do this, no problem. If anyone can watch a baby for an hour, it’s you.” He shifts Jehan’s arms around the bundle and Jehan instinctively moves to cradle Julian’s head in the crook of his elbow. “See? Nailed it.” Bahorel leans back again, taking a pull from his coffee mug as he watches Jehan smile down at the baby. “As if Jehan Prouvaire needing a class to tell him to be gentle. Or bold! Has anyone ever heard something so fucking—”

“Alright, alright,” says Jehan, still smiling. ”Don’t swear in front of the baby.”

"Did you leave a note on Paulina’s door that you’re over here?”

Jehan nods.

““Meet at flat 3G, / Julian is probably fine, / hoping for the best”?”

“Too many syllables.”

“Eh,” says Bahorel, waving a hand idly. ”C’mere, give him back and go grab your laptop. You can do your editing stuff over here.”

When Jehan returns he finds Bahorel dozing on the couch, the baby secured on his chest and both watching a Rescue Ink rerun through half-lidded eyes. ”You both good?” says Jehan.

"Yeah, man," says Bahorel. "We’re good."

 

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr at afamiliardog


End file.
